Actions, Intentions, and Restraint
by iamthelorax
Summary: A brutal murderer has to be dealt with. Now so does a second one. Warnings: GORE. I am not kidding, it gets graphic. If that's not your cup of tea I encourage you to skip the third, fourth, and fifth paragraphs. The rest of the fill is gore free.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Actions, Intentions, and Restraint.  
><strong>Game:<strong> FE7  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R because of violence.  
><strong>Pairings (if applicable):** N/A  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A brutal murderer has to be dealt with. Now so does a second one.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> GORE. I am not kidding, it gets graphic.  
><strong>Other Comments:<strong> This is set during Chapter 26x: Night of Farewells. Matthew is hit with a berserk staff, and the following occurs. As mentioned above, this fill contains some fairly explicit gore. If that's not your cup of tea I encourage you to skip the third, fourth, and fifth paragraphs, seeing as the rest of the fill is gore free.

The red and yellow bands twirled around Matthew's body and obscured his vision. Their color and their pattern drilled into his head. He tried to cover his eyes, but it didn't work. There was a searing pain in his head, and then anger, just pure, irrational hate. He let out an inhuman snarl, turning rabidly on the closest person. A blade plunged into flesh, blood poured, and Matthew smiled in a warped mockery of his usual smirk.

Jaffar didn't cry out. He certainly could have. The haphazard strikes of a madman were a far cry from Matthew's normally precise, exact, and quick killing strike. Metal twisted and ripped, slicing through muscle, and hacking at bones. As both of their clothes became more red, the Angel of Death gurgled out one word.

"Nino."

_Nino._

The word echoed in Matthew's clouded brain. He'd said it like…like he'd planned to call out for her when he died. He'd said it the way that Matthew planned to say Leila's name one day. The way she'd probably said his as she felt this man's blade pierce her skin. That thought, as disjointed as it was in his mind fed into the artificial rage, and Matthew screamed. His body was burning with the urge to hurt, and the object of this hate was in his arms, no longer capable of feeling pain. He twisted his sword still imbedded within the assassin's chest, then disregarded it completely and began to tear at his ribs, and his lungs, and finally his very heart with his bare hands.

The enemy controlled portion of his brain was urging him to find a new target, move on, kill someone else - it will feel better if they scream. He ignored the urgings, the pain in his skull rising as a result. Jaffar's heart was in his hands, or bits of it were anyway. There wasn't much left of it. Annoyed by this, Matthew grabbed the murderer's now-murdered body by something within him, the collarbone perhaps, and dragged it up off of the ground before slamming it back to the floor with as much force as he could muster. The thing's head cracked, and Matthew's bloodlust zeroed in on that fact immediately. With a sound that could only be classified as laugher by the damned, Matthew brought the heel of his shoe down on the cloth-shrouded head. Bones crunched and soft buttery brains leaked and oozed from the fissures and cracks created.

Matthew did not stop demolishing the corpse until it was hardly recognizable as such. There was no face, but the general human form was still intact. Until Matthew remembered his sword. Arms were hacked off and thrown at other members of the army, now a sign of frustration. He wanted off this island to get to more people. He was unable to however, and so his blade returned to Jaffar's mangled remains. When the effects of the staff finally wore off there was not an inch of Matthew that was not covered in gore.

As the rage fled from his mind, the redhead faltered. He almost fell, but he caught himself, only to double over and vomit. The stench of blood was overpowering, suffocating. He looked at what he'd done. He couldn't not; it was all around him, all over him. He stayed like that, not taking in what was in front of him, just staring, trying to comprehend what he'd done. Finally a Pegasus knight came to ferry him to the next island. Florina looked more than a bit green as she flew him across the water back to the thick of the battle, and she dropped him off without either of them having exchanged a word. No one looked at him as they finished the fight, and as they headed back to camp he noticed an extra few feet between himself and everyone else.

He doesn't blame them, he still reeks of blood. Guy won't look at him, and neither will Serra. She is actually hiding behind Lucius and Heath, and looks terrified. Lyn is staring at him with a strange, hard expression as she holds back a sobbing and furious Nino. Matthew won't look at them. Hector meets his gaze, and Matthew sees a flicker of understanding in the man's eyes, but it's small, hidden beneath a stern look that conveys little. Eliwood is fretting, trying to calm Nino, but not having much success. Guilt tugs at Matthew, but it's muted. He feels empty, and seeing the effects of his atrocities on everyone else's faces is just adding to his apathy.

Sain and Kent are talking quietly amongst themselves, but Matthew hears the words that matter. _Brutality, excessive, doubt, motives, insane._ Heath just glares at him. Matthew pays no mind to the judging stare he's being leveled with. Wil, the poor boy, was also sick, and now he's following behind Guy, staring at the floor in a horrified kind of way.

Matthew doesn't want to talk to any of them. Eventually someone will tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't in control. Was that a lie? Mostly. Killing Jaffar wasn't his doing. He would not have done it were it not for the staff, however much he wanted to. Everyone can agree on that. But ripping him apart like that had clearly been what he wanted to do. And he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened.

When the bruised and shaken but triumphant group returned to the main camp, news traveled quickly. No one would go into detail, but the main message _Matthew ripped Jaffar apart_ was soon heard by everyone in camp.

Mark berates him for killing Jaffar, for even having gotten hit by that freak staff, but muses that at least it was only the one. The man's obliviousness to the company's horror and his insensitivity to Matthew's turmoil are strangely refreshing to the spy. At least one person doesn't seem to care at all. Hector and Eliwood both seem like they want to come talk to him, as do a few other select members of the group, but he manages to slip away from them all and into a secluded area near camp. He hides, shrouded by shadows and the leaves of the forest around him, and gazes into the blackest bit of the night he can find.

He will not sleep tonight, he desperately wishes to, just to let everything fade for a few hours. He ghastly fantasies that await his sleeping mind would be nothing compared to the cold cruel truths his conscious brain is conjuring. He had killed people before. Everyone in the army had by now, but he had killed people in cold blood, just like Jaffar. Those people had been enemies, but more often than not there's a name or a plea, mostly half completed, that falls from the doomed wretch's lips as they slip away. For every fallen person another mourned. The blood is drying on his skin and it itches. The sensation of physical discomfort is enough to bring him out of his circular thoughts, and he heads back to camp. He cleans himself off and by the time anyone else is even awake a stony faced assassin waits at the edge of camp, knowing that he will soon have to deal with the aftermath.

**AN:** Hello all. I wrote this fairly quickly, and I feel some things are not articulated well, but I was happy with the overall piece, so please enjoy. I do plan on continuing this fic with more focus on other members of the army and how everyone deals with this instance, so please stay tuned. Concrit would be loved, as are all comments, regardless of tone, length, or sensibility.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Okay, here is chapter two. Updates from now on will be somewhat slower from here on out, as the rest of the fic is unwritten as of yet, but it shouldn't be more than a week or two between updates. Not nearly as much gore in this chapter, and the rest of the fic looks like it's going to be fine. I wish I could rate this per chapter, but whatever. Reviews are loved, as is crit.

* * *

><p>"Matthew's been hit by a berserk! He's out of control!"<p>

Florina's high voice called out from above, alerting the company of the danger. All eyes turned in time to see the redhead quickly dispatch the assassin. A ripple of shock traveled through the army, Hector alone showing a flicker of jealousy, though no one but Eliwood saw. This was soon quashed by stunned looks of horror as Matthew continued. There was a collective cringe, but one person remained completely unaffected. Mark surveyed the situation, and dismissed it.

"Jaffar is dead, but Matthew is contained. No one else is in danger. All units continue forward!"

The army did as instructed, but they could not ignore the inhuman snarls and sick squelches coming from the direction of the maddened man. As Matthew reached the peak of his frenzy one of Jaffar's arms struck Wil, leaving a red stain across the sniper's tunic, and leaving the young man paralyzed with shock and disgust. Kent took pity on the lad and hopped out of his saddle, walking over and nudging the limb off of the edge of the island. It drifted and bobbed in the water, not quite sinking. Wil's eyes fixed on the severed object, and soon bile rose in his throat. Stony faced, Kent patted Wil on the back once as he emptied his stomach, then climbed back on his horse to continue the advance.

The lords, the paladins, Heath, and Guy all managed to turn away, to press forward, but the others could not help but stare until the ordeal was over. With Matthew clearly released from the staff's effects, the trance was broken, and their gazes fell to somewhere, _anywhere_ else. When Florina was given the order to bring Matthew back to the rest of the army she flinched, and Serra gave Mark a horrified look before bolting off to find someone strong enough to provide a suitable shield between herself and the red headed murderer.

The rest of the battle was a tense affair. There were no triumphant shouts as enemies fell, and no regrouping before facing down Sonia. Lyn simply dispatched her, taking the Fell Contract with hands that did not shake, but a gaze that conveyed wariness and angered calculation. Serra and Lucius tended to the few people who needed it, and the company began the trek back to camp. Matthew had a few minor wounds, but he approached no one, and everyone gave him space. Some stayed away out of concern for him, most out of fear or anger.

Once back at camp Serra immediately recounts an abridged version of the tale to anyone who will listen, and several that won't. News spreads like wildfire, and rumors soon accompany it. I heard he ate the organs. He isn't even regretful about it. I heard he laughed it off. Hector watches with an almost protective indignance as his vassal is slandered. It doesn't help that the young man is nowhere to be found. Many are hoping that he deserted. There are extra people on guard duty that night. Never the less Matthew is found outside of the Lord's tent the next morning just as they were about to order a search for him.

He is told that they have been discussing what happened, and that they have things to share with him. He bows to Hector, then Lyn and Eliwood, then follows them inside the tent. Hector fixes him with a thoughtful and concerned look, and is the first one to talk.

"Do you plan on leaving the company?"

"No, Milord. Unless told otherwise by yourself, I am under your command."

Hector thinks Matthew's eyes look dead. His face is gaunt, and he looks incredibly _old_ all of a sudden. He doesn't want to see Matthew smiling right now, but lack of the thief's ever present grin is just one more disconcerting detail.

Hector nods, satisfied with the answer, but Eliwood then speaks up. He's nervous, but not because of Matthew. He's nervous because this situation could rapidly spin out of his control if not handled well.

"I am sure you're aware, but your…actions have put us in quite a bind. People are not happy."

"Yes Milord. If you wish to dismiss me-"

Matthew seems to have been contemplating this outcome, as had Lyn if the nearly impassive look she's giving him is any indication, but Hector cuts across him before he can finish the proposal.

"You're not getting kicked out Matthew. What happened was not your fault."

The words seem to die in Hector's throat, but they still float into the air, and there is an unpleasant pause as everyone evaluates their validity. Eliwood is the first to break the silence.

"Yes, we are not dismissing you Matthew, but we need you to cooperate if we are to calm the rest of the army. I don't want _any_ deserters."

"What do you wish of me Lord Eliwood?"

"We want you to sleep outside of camp, but please stay where people can see you. We all know of your fondness for sneaking about, but right now we need you to stay in the open. If people know where you are they will be less likely to…."

To think you are behind them.

"… to worry about your whereabouts."

Eliwood goes silent and Lyn takes a step forward, finally speaking up. There's something inside her that's burning. It's anger, but she's controlling it well.

"You are also to speak with Nino. I've calmed her down, but you need to make amends with her."

"Yes Lady Lyndis, of course. I regret having inflicted this pain on her."

The sincerity in his voice is reassuring to everyone, although the statement is carefully crafted, and they can all see that. He is not sorry that Jaffar is dead. It is unclear whether he is sorry he completely mauled the body. He is merely sad that someone cared; sad that she had to go through what he did. Leila's body had been mutilated as well after all. Lyn's face tightens, and she holds out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Her knuckles are white. He is not meant to take the paper, only to see it. It is a fell contract. The momentary sparkle of want in Matthew's otherwise dead eyes is missed by no one, and it makes them uncomfortable.

"There is also this. Mark wants us to give it to you, but your stability is now in question. We have to discuss the issue more before we can decide."

"I understand Milady."

Lyn looks into Matthew's eyes, searching for some hint of resentment, or rage, or any of the madness that had gripped him previously. She finds none, just a blank expression that conveys nothing to her. Hector can see the bitter look being given to his vassal, and he picks up the conversation again, a little extra stress on the note of authority in his voice.

"Matthew, we all have our own thoughts on what happened, but we need to know yours."

Matthew had been looking at Hector, but when he's prompted, he looks down at the ground, frowning slightly now, trying to gather his thoughts.

"I did not have control of myself Milord. I would not have done what I did if it were not for the staff. However I do not regret it. I will not lie, I am glad that Jaffar is dead."

Lyn found what she was looking for, and her bitter expression has morphed into something bordering on livid. Eliwood looks worried and a hair disappointed. Hector merely nods, and continues.

"Right. We will soon be holding a council. Everyone who was present for your episode will attend, but you are not to come. We know that there is little we could do to stop you if you wished to listen in but you will not. That is an order. When we wish for your input on the situation we will send for you."

"Yes Milord. You have my word."

Here Lyn objects, glaring forcefully at the thief.

"Your word is no good."

Matthew looks to Hector, searching for support that he does not get. Hector may not blame him, but nobody trusts him. His face is ever so slightly defiant as he speaks, his words aimed directly at the brawny blue haired man before him.

"I guess I should have expected that, although I thought I had already done enough to prove my loyalty to my liege. I swear on Leila's memory that I will follow all orders given to me by Lord Hector."

All three are a little surprised by Matthew's words. They showed more emotion, more _hurt,_ than Matthew had seemed capable of feeling when he first entered the tent. After a few stunned seconds, Hector nods curtly.

"Then that will be all. You are dismissed."

Matthew is gone without another word.


End file.
